Roots
by Jessica Kincaid
Summary: Sequel to "That Sinking Feeling," but can be read independently. The anniversary of Liam's death sends Hook spiraling into a dark place. He shows up on Emma's doorstep, stone drunk. She realizes what he needs most is a place to belong again. Will include lots of Captain Swan, as well as Neal, Henry, Gold and Snowing.
1. Drunk Hook

_Please select color preferences._

Emma clicked on the drop down menu to see her choices.

Whoa. How could there be so many shades of green?

She squeezed one eye shut as she appraised her kitchen walls, projecting the shades along the counter tops and under the windows and around the white fridge. After several attempts, she shut the laptop. Her head found the desk and her folded arms with a huff.

Mary Margaret wanted a new kitchen? Fine. _She _could pick the color. Emma would put it on the walls. Home decorating was not her forte. Her expertise tended towards hopping fences and chasing lowlifes through backstreets. Clearly, her mother—she winced—Mary Margaret—had suffered a lapse of sanity when she suggested over her freshly-squeezed orange juice and homemade toast that Emma branch out.

Yeah. She was a homemaking success story just waiting to be discovered.

Emma glanced at her watch. 10:30 am on a Friday morning. Bored already.

She pinched her nose bridge. _No more vacation days. _No matter how much David insisted.

With her chin in her hand, she stared at her car keys, perched atop the kitchen counter several feet away from the kitchen computer, calling to her like one of Mary Margaret's twirping little bird friends. It's not like he could forcibly _remove _her from the station. She just had to get in before he saw her and locked the front door.

Then again, the pile of folders on the coffee table needed attention. Incident reports, mostly. Small-time stuff for a small-time town—except for the occasions when people tried to ignite each other, turn loved ones into small mammals, poison enemies, cast love spells on stubborn flames, rip out hearts, or steal precious property for personal nefarious purposes.

Emma sighed. Okay, maybe a day off wasn't such a bad idea. She could read a book. Go for a hike. Buy some new clothes. (_When was the last time I went shopping_?) Work out. Go for a run. Henry would be home in the afternoon; they could go somewhere.

She warmed to the last two ideas. A heavy knock interrupted her.

When she opened the door, she caught her breath. "What did you do?"

Gold stood in her doorway, scowling. Hook was with him, bearing an even deeper scowl. His hands were cuffed behind his back and Gold had a sharp grip on his elbow.

Hook threw his shoulder back, trying to catch Gold, but clearly this wasn't the first attempt as Gold just shifted his body away. Hook swayed on his feet, slurring out sounds that were probably meant to represent, "Get your bloody claws off me, crocodile."

Emma groaned. "Hook."

"Your pirate," Gold said in a dry tone, "is drunk."

She gave him a look. "I noticed that. Hey, wait, he is not _my_—"

"I found him stumbling through the middle of an intersection. He was brushed by a car."

Emma glanced at him again. The corners of his mouth lifted. And then his eyes rolled.

"He's fine," Gold answered. "Either you do something with him, or I will. I am only offering once."

Emma took over steadying the pirate. Once he had crossed the threshold, Hook leaned to the left and smiled. "Thank you, crocodile," he burbled, "for showing me to the lady's quarters. I believe I can handle it from here." With rolling eyes, Hook hovered behind her, nosing the skin just below her ear and kissing her cheek. "Swan, you look," he hiccuped, "beautiful, as always."

Emma muttered, "I'm gonna kill him."

"Get in line, dearie." Gold turned to go.

"Gold." Emma caught his eyes. "Thank you."

Gold looked at his cane.

"This will make Belle proud."

When Gold looked up, he wore his version of a smile. "Well," he whispered, tossing a nod at the pirate, "I certainly didn't do it for him."

They smiled between them—"smile" was probably too generous; they looked moderately pleasant—before Gold departed and Emma hauled Hook inside.

"Easy on the goods, love."


	2. Amorous Inclinations

"Sit!" Emma barked. She pointed at the couch.

Instead of following instructions, Hook sashayed towards her. He hovered in her personal space, but she held her ground. She stared at him with all the glare power she could summon. Hook didn't flinch. He only smiled.

"Do you intend to release my hands?" Hook kissed her cheek. When that didn't get a response, he kissed her nose, then lightly on her lips. Then her jaw. Against her neck, he whispered, "I'm rather hoping you say 'no.'"

_That's it._ Emma grabbed him by the shoulders and shoved him into an armchair. She released his hands with the key Gold gave her. "_Sit_. _Down._"

Hook looked taken back by her tone. "Don't fuss so, love. It's all in good—"

"Shut up." She put her hands on either arm of the chair and leaned close to his face. He smiled, but it faded when her glare remained in place. "I don't know what your issue is," she said, "but you shape up right now before I make you."

The smirk was back. He leaned towards her, breath ghosting across her face. "Is that a promise?"

"What's wrong with you?" She wasn't shouting now. She wasn't giving him the death-glare, either. She rocked back on her heels just a little, shaking her head. "You nearly drown to protect Henry. Three days later you're the town despot? I'm not buying it." Her hand pressed against his forehead. "Are you sick?"

Beneath the drunk stupor, something lucid flashed in his eyes. Pain. He dropped against his chair, eyes anywhere but hers.

_He needs a minute._

Emma left him alone, hoping he'd pull it together if given some privacy. She brewed black coffee. Returning with the largest mug she owned, she almost dropped it onto the living room carpet when she saw Hook with his head thrown back, canteen emptying its contents into his mouth.

He protested when she ripped it from his hands. "No more alcohol, Hook!"

"You are not my mother—"

"_Drink this_." She shoved the coffee into his hands.

"What is it?"

"_Now_."

He tasted it. "This is bloody awful."

"Finish it."

"Give me my rum back."

Emma snorted. "You are not having rum for the foreseeable future, pal."

The scowl on his face gave her pause. "I'm not playing games, Swan. Give it _back_."

"You have to listen to me. It's for your own good." She capped it and started to walk away.

Hook stood. Swiftly. The coffee cup hit the floor. Emma took a step backwards.

"You do not tell me what is for my own good, _savior_." He growled. Emma couldn't look away from his eyes. He backed her against the wall. His hooked arm snaked behind her body to capture her far wrist, keeping both arms pinned down. He pressed his good arm against her throat.

Emma swallowed. "You need to calm down—"

"Stop telling me what to do," he hissed. His breathing was heavy and uneven. Puffs of exhalation blew from his mouth, and Emma blinked when they hit her face. Hook suddenly winced, then groaned. Under his breath, Emma heard, "Liam, I'm so sorry." Hook pushed his forehead against hers. "Save me from the voices, Swan."

"What voices?"

When Hook opened his eyes, the lucid flicker was gone. He dragged a lingering gaze up and down her. She shifted her shoulders, trying to free a hand, but he had her too tight. His eyes glazed. "Oh, I like this."

Emma tried again. "What—"

"Ssshhh." Hook pressed a calloused finger to her lips. "I like my pets silent." He smiled then, but it wasn't him. It sharpened his features and matched the hard look in his eyes. "That's what you are now. You are my little pet swan." He fondled her chin and tapped her on the nose. "You must obey me, little thing, or I'll have to discipline you." A laugh rumbled inside him. "Won't that be fun?"

"This is not you." Emma murmured. "You're out of control. Step back."

Hook tutted and pinched her lips shut.

"Ah-ah. Silence, I said." He trailed a finger down the side of her face. "This _is _me, darling. I am the villain. With a dark, black heart. I don't get a happy ending." His gaze dropped to her mouth, and that smile was back. "But I do take what I want."

"You're drunk." Emma winced when he pushed more pressure against her throat. She wiggled her shoulders again. He pressed his body against hers, driving her into the wall. "You are drunk and upset. This is not who you are."

"Let me show you who I am." Hook pressed his lips to hers and kissed her. She squirmed, she grunted, but he didn't stop.

_This will kill him when he snaps out of it. _

After a time, the panting pirate released her lips long enough to kiss along her jawline and down her neck. With eyelids pressed shut like he was in euphoria, he moaned against her skin, "Delicious."

_He'll never forgive himself._

"Hook," Emma said. "Back off. Now."

"Make me." He tilted his head sideways and went after the soft skin under her jaw. She caught her breath, lifting her chin even higher. Hook murmured his approval as he pressed in.

"I don't want to hurt you, but I will."

He was working himself into a frenzy. His breath came faster, ragged. Like his mind spun somewhere a million miles away, he kept whispering, "My pet swan." He went after her lips again, hard. Emma winced.

"Last chance—"

She couldn't even finish.

"What's the matter, savior?" he said, once he'd come up for air. He chuckled against her mouth, tickling her lips. It was a horrid, disgusting sound. "Can't you save me?"

Okay. That was his last chance.

Emma tried to knee him, but he must have felt her tense because he pressed his boots against her feet, spreading her stance just wide enough so she couldn't move. He smiled into her neck. "Shall we play rough?"

"I'm not playing."

Emma knocked her forehead into his. He stepped back, and up came her knee into his gut. His head flew downwards. It cracked against the knee it found there. She wrenched a wrist free and slapped him so hard the sound of skin on skin echoed into the kitchen. He stumbled backwards. Her opposite hand swung back and slapped his second cheek. Hook fell to the floor.

Emma didn't realize how fast she was breathing until Hook remained motionless and she could hear her own snorting in the quiet living room.

"You," Emma said to the outstretched body, "need to calm down."

* * *

Voices danced in Hook's head. He groaned and rolled over. He saw ocean, and stood on a ship that rocked wildly from one side to the other. Every time he tried to stand, he fell back on his face.

The voices hissed louder when he fell. The words were not distinct, yet he knew what they said.

He failed. Three hundred years later, and he still failed.

Milah and Liam frowned down at him from the sky like gods casting curses.

Why had he failed them so?

Hook dropped to his knees. "I'm sorry!" He clutched his head in his hands and pressed his forehead against the deck. It felt strange—soft and feathery, not wooden.

He looked up at the sky as tears slipped from his eyes. Milah was gone, but Liam still frowned. Black tendrils climbed across his face as the nightshade set in.

Hook's shoulders shook as he sobbed against the deck. "Brother, I'm so sorry."

Liam reached a god-sized hand and seized his shoulder. Hook pressed his eyes shut. Liam shook his shoulder, shouting his name.

"Hook! Hook!"

Hook? Liam never called him that. He was still Killian, then.

"Hook!"

Liam's voice morphed into Milah's. Smaller, but just as sharp.

"_Hook, wake up_!"

"I'm sorry, Milah," he whispered, eyes shut tight. He saw nothing but blackness. The hand still shook him. "Forgive me."

"_Killian_! Wake up or I'll hit you again."

That sounded like . . . Swan.

Hook's eyes sprung open. He blinked. Indeed, Emma Swan's face was above him, frowning. Her hand was on his shoulder.

_Emma_.

"Hey!" She looked at his eyes in turn. "You with me?"

Hook closed his eyes. He dropped his head back into the full embrace of the pillow. The corners of his mouth lifted, and he hummed. "Forever and always, love."

Emma seemed relieved. He reached for her hand, but he couldn't find it. When he opened his eyes again, he saw that she had withdrawn a pace from the bed, with her arms crossed.

Hook struggled to sit up. "What happened?"

"You tell me."

"I . . . I don't remember."

"There was alcohol. Lots. And lots. Of alcohol."

Hook pressed his good hand to his forehead. "That would explain this bloody headache." He swung his legs over the edge of the bed and leaned over. Blood rushed to his head in pulsing, throbbing waves. "I've never failed to hold my own rum."

Emma snorted. It was not a friendly sound. "Yeah, well. Trust me. This time, you failed."

_Failed_. _Failed_. The words echoed in his mind, and for a moment, he saw the open blue ocean with the two scowling god faces in the sky. He groaned into his hands.

It was quiet in the guest room of Swan's apartment for some moments. Amid the buzzing, Hook remembered a bar.

"I went out for a drink," he said at last.

"That, I assumed."

"I went to that establishment by the docks. I wanted to try some of your native rum." Hook searched her face for something.

She seemed so . . . cold. Like the old Swan. The one he met in the Enchanted Forest, when she pulled him from the rubble and then pressed a knife to his throat. Where had his Swan gone?

At the native rum remark, her face softened into what counted as a smile on the old Swan. "Apparently, it has more of a kick than what you are accustomed to."

"Indeed. I hope I didn't say anything foolish." Again, he searched her face.

Emma bristled, but she tried to hide it. "Context is everything. Let's get your system recovered." She brushed past him to the guest bath, where she summoned forth the hot water from the closet with the clear door.

Hook knitted his brow. Something was wrong. He stood, approached her from behind. "Emma?"

She jumped when his voice hit her ear. He saw a hand as she spun and then felt the smack against his face. Emma gasped as he stepped back.

"I'm sorry!" she said.

Hook held his hand to his stinging cheek. Under the soft sound of the falling water, he whispered, "What did I do?"

"Nothing."

Emma tried to step past him. He stopped her by taking her hand, sliding down until he held on by grasping only a fingertip or two. "Please tell me."

"You were not yourself."

"Did I hurt you?"

"Hook—"

His heart beat faster. "Did I hurt you?"

Emma gave a long blink, during which she whispered, "I don't want to talk about it right now. Take a shower."

Hook's insides gutted. "I did hurt you."

"No. You didn't. I swear."

"Then what?"

"You just—"

"Yes?" Hook took a step closer.

"I don't know."

"What?"

Emma threw her hands. "You just scared me! I'm fine. We don't need to talk about it. Now would you please just drop it and take a shower?" She stomped out of the guest room.

And when the water hit him and his mind cleared and the world came into focus again, he remembered.

He remembered everything.

Hook stumbled out of the shower, dressed in his layers and leather, and hurried, almost tumbled, down the stairs. He paused when he saw her in the kitchen. His words—his nasty, untrue words—came back to him.

_A villain with a dark heart. I take what I want._

"Emma," he whispered.

She looked up from the bread she was buttering.

He was so distraught, his knees buckled. He caught the edge of the kitchen table to stay standing.

"Sit down," Emma hastened to pull out a chair. "You're dehydrated after all that alcohol."

Hook ignored it. He stared into the depths of her green eyes and held her arm. "Emma, I beg your forgiveness. I am ashamed at my actions."

Emma looked at the ground. "I, uh, was really hoping you wouldn't remember."

Hook glanced past her to the wall, and he remembered holding her there. _You must obey me, little thing, or I'll have to discipline you._

He shuddered. Never had he spoken to her that way. What dark place in his heart could store such thoughts?

_Failed._

Hook dropped to his knees. He hung his head and clutched his hair. "I've never done this before."

Emma squatted in front of him. "I know."

"I hear the voices."

"What voices?" When he didn't answer, she lifted his chin with two fingers. "Hey," she whispered, searching one green eye then the next, "talk to me."

Hook trailed his eyes over everything he'd done a few hours ago. Her lips, her face, her neck and jaw. Her lips in particular still looked a little swollen.

He hung his head again. "I am so sorry. It's best that I leave."

When he tried to stand, Emma took his arm and sat him back in the chair. "You're not going anywhere until we figure out what happened."

"I already know what happened, Emma!" His voice quivered. "I conducted myself with great dishonor. I am only thankful I did not hurt you further. I—I need to go."

"Look, just relax." Emma ran a hand through her hair. "It's not like you've been an AA success story ever since I met you."

Hook frowned. "What?"

"Never mind. What I mean is, I'm used to seeing you on a steady rum intake. And while the alcoholic level of ourdrinks _is_ higher than what you're used to, I don't think it's enough to make you come unhinged like that. So what else happened?"

Hook shrugged. "Nothing. I just drank."

Emma sat down with him. "Why?"

Hook rolled his eyes, and small smile eased his face. "If I have to explain that, love, you don't know me as well as I thought."

"No, I mean—why did you go out _last _night? What made you decide to try our alcohol last night? Why not a different night?"

Hook looked away.

"_That's_ what I'm talking about." Emma shifted in her chair. She wasn't going to let this go, he realized. "There's something you're not telling me. What's wrong?"

Hook looked at the floor. He wanted to take her hand, to hold her, but after that morning, he would never touch her again.

So when her hand reached for his and her fingers threaded through his own, Captain Killian Jones "Hook" had never felt so alive. He raised his eyes to hers, surprise written all over his face.

"Tell me," Emma whispered.

And in that moment, Hook knew he would tell her everything.

"Last night," Hook's voice sounded hoarse in his own ears, "was the night that Liam died—so, so long ago. After I goaded him into testing the poison. Several years later, Milah died on my ship because of my actions. And ever since then, when I am alone, I hear their voices." His voice caught. He waited a moment. "I've tried every vice available to man to take the pain away: Rum. Opiates. The rush of battle. Plundering." He glanced at her eyes, then away. "Women."

Emma squeezed his hand, but she said nothing.

"They work for the night. Then morning dawns. Sunlight comes through my cabin window, and I want to crawl to a corner." Hook swallowed. Something wet slipped out of the corner of his eye.

Emma rubbed it away with her thumb. "Go on," she whispered.

"I realize . . . I don't know the face of the woman stirring next to me. I couldn't find her in a crowd, haven't the slightest notion of her name. The rum has worn off, leaving a headache in its place. The bag of opiate is depleted, but I long for more." He closed his eyes. "Countless are the mornings I stood before the mirror and despised the creature looking back." Hook dropped his face to her hands. "I'm so weary of the pain, Swan. I am desperate for peace."

He expected any number of things. A sigh, a pat on the hand, words of comfort—or awkward silence.

What he didn't expect was the softest whisper of his name, his _real _name, he'd ever heard fall from a woman's lips, followed by Emma's arms around his neck and her hair against his cheek. He caught his breath as his mind registered her body, warm against his, as she pulled him into her.

When was the last time someone had embraced him like this?

A portion of his will panicked. He should extract and run. No one could see him like this.

But Hook had no intention of leaving her arms. He collapsed against her strong frame, head safe on her shoulder. They sank out of their chairs to the floor, and he didn't care. He didn't realize he was sobbing until he felt his chest shaking against hers. Her hand drew soft circles into his back, alternating a light and firm touch.

Emma rocked him—for how long, he couldn't care. In that kitchen, time became meaningless.

He clutched her to him like she was the last real thing in the world. And then he said what he'd carried inside him for centuries but never spoke aloud for lack of one person to listen. "I miss him so much, Emma."

And that's when he realized she was crying, too.

Hook pulled back far enough to brush her tears away with an embarrassed smile. "Lands, lass, I didn't mean to make you cry, as well."

"You stupid pirate," she whispered, "don't you dare ruin this."

Emma took his face in her hands and kissed his forehead. She kissed his cheek, and his nose, and his eyes.

He remembered that morning, and a flush burned up his neck. "Please," he murmured. "Stop. I don't deserve—"

"You are not alone, Killian." Emma's voice was strong, although her face was as wet as the sea. "This place is about rewriting the story. You can belong. You can feel loved. You can find peace. But if you want to heal, you have to let go of the past."

Hook tilted his head down until their foreheads met. "Do you know," he whispered, "how long it's been since someone has held me like that?"

Emma pulled him close again, resting her head against his. Hook closed his eyes. "I will do this as often as you want."

When she could see his face, he smiled with a raised eyebrow.

"As a friend." She punctuated that with with her own raised eyebrows. "You need to belong to something again, Killian. I'm here to help you."

Hook brushed his knuckles against her face. "Trying to save me, savior?"

"I'm helping you save yourself." She kissed his cheek, and then she stood. She held out her hand.

When Hook took it, he gave himself time to enjoy the feeling of his fingers curled around hers. She pulled him to his feet and sat him down at the table. He watched her rummage through the cold box.

"Now, we're going to plan the fun things we have in store for the day while I make lunch."

Another heavy knock on the front door interrupted them.

Emma groaned. "_Now_ what?"


	3. The Crocodile

**Author's note: **While the estimated time setting of these events is sometime late in season 2, there a few fudged moments of chronology. This chapter and the preceding one fall in this category: Hook is wrestling with his brother's death in full; however, in the show, this won't happen until they're in Neverland.

Hook watched Emma wipe the tender moment's evidence from her face. It didn't do much. Her face would be stained with red splotches for a while.

Lands, she was beautiful. He could still feel the phantom touch of her arms around him. As far as he was concerned, it could linger as long as it liked.

When Emma opened the door, Hook saw the visitor and lurched. _Crocodile._ The chair beneath him honked in his haste to stand. _What is he doing here?_

"Good afternoon, Miss Swan." Gold—that was his name, here—said. A reaction resembling surprise settled across his face when Hook joined them. "He's still here. Are you all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"

"I'm fine." Emma slid her hands in her back pockets. "We were just talking."

Hook slipped an arm around her waist. He pulled her close, trading stares with the man._ Try to touch her, Crocodile. Just try it._

Gold frowned. "Talking?"

"Yep." Emma's tone said he wasn't getting more information. She waited. "Did you need something in particular?"

"I just thought I'd check on you." He glanced at Hook. "He was rather drunk when I left. I was . . . concerned for your safety."

Hook tried not to flinch. Hard to do when his own voice whispered inside his head. "_I take what I want." _His shoulders twitched. _Don't. Not now._ He was angry—he would not relive the morning again, not in front of the this man. Instead, he demanded aloud, "Why not kill me when you had the chance?"

Gold's fingers flexed around the knob of his cane. _A nervous tic._ "Because I'm trying to do better by Belle, pirate."

"But why bring me here, if you thought me a danger?"

And there.

There smiled the crocodile's teeth.

In that moment, Hook knew: He may bear a different name, wear different clothes, even speak behind a different face, but the same heart still beat in the crocodile's body.

Milah's murderer, standing feet away from Emma in her own home. How had he let it come to this?

_Failed, _the voice whispered in his head again.

Hook twitched. He refocused on the present; Rumpelstiltskin was speaking to him.

"I'm sure your behavior has proven your true character to Miss Swan."

Hook saw Emma against a wall, his feet pressed against hers as his arm crossed against her throat. _"Are you sure you can handle the consequences of playing rough?"_

He looked away. He passed his tongue over his bottom lip, realizing only too late that his tell had surely given him away. One look back confirmed his fears.

The crocodile smiled in full. "I see I was not wrong. Perhaps now that you've seen the kind of man he is, Miss Swan, you'll understand this is not someone you want in your life."

"_What's the matter, savior? Can't you save me?"_

"Is this about Neal?" Emma's sharp voice brought Hook back. She wore her exasperated face. It was an expression he was familiar with. "Gold, c'mon on. Please tell me this is not about Neal."

The dark one shrugged. "I said nothing about Baelfire."

Emma moved away from Hook's arm before he could stop her and got in Rumpelstiltskin's face. "What did you do to him?"

"I'm sorry?"

"_Tell me _what you did to him."

Another smile. "You don't have to force a lion to act like a lion, dearie."

"Cut the crap. You brought him here as an angry drunk time-bomb, and now you're back to see the result. Is that it?"

Hook finally understood. His stomach rolled. That demon. There's no telling what . . .

_Stop it. Not here. Not now._ Hook approached, his voice only a whisper. "You brought me here to hurt Emma?"

Rumpelstiltskin's voice raised. He pointed a finger at them. "I brought you here because you were an angry, drunk despot wandering the streets. She's a big girl. She can take care of herself."

Hook grabbed him with his good hand and held him against the side of the house. He hovered his hook in the man's face. "Do you have any idea," Hook seethed, "what I might have done to her?"

"Oh," Rumpelstiltskin sneered, "I do."

Hook shouted a foul name and hurled him to the grass. "I'll kill you for this."

"Hey!" Emma grabbed his arm and pulled him back. "Chill. We talked about this."

Hook searched her eyes for the understanding to see it his way. "He wanted me to hurt you."

"Relax," Emma said, "I am the sheriff. I can handle this."

Rumpelstiltskin was chuckling from the ground. Emma put a hand on Hook's chest. He challenged her with his eyes for a moment, but at last he stepped behind her.

He sighed. She wasn't just the savior here, he told himself. Or his Swan, for that matter. She was also the sheriff.

Lands, he hated that.

Emma turned to the crocodile with folded arms. "Do you doubt that he would like to hurt you?"

"Dearie," Rumpelstiltskin pushed himself to his feet. He brushed grass off his suit. "That's been his state of mind for centuries."

Hook grunted, but Emma pressed on.

"Tell me what you did."

"I don't know what you mean."

Emma clenched her teeth. "Explain to me what you did to Hook before he stops listening to me and assaults you."

"Pretty experienced at that, is he?"

Hook roared. He lunged at Rumpelstiltskin with his hook. Emma had to grab him by the waist and swing him around. Hook's momentum carried him into the front door.

Rumpelstiltskin smirked. "A little unhinged, isn't he?"

Emma got in his face. "_What _did you _do_?"

"All right. You want to know?" His gaze flicked over her shoulder, and locked eyes with Hook, who was glowering in the doorway. "I saw him in the bar. He looked prepared to be there for a while. I slipped something into his drink when he turned around—looking at some women."

Hook glanced away.

"_What _did you put in his drink?" Emma said.

Rumpelstiltskin shrugged. "Just a potion. To help him fully feel those nasty emotions he carries inside him. And perhaps," Rumpelstiltskin bowed his head with a smirk, "to also stir up . . . amorous inclinations."

Hook didn't remember slipping around Emma. He didn't remember folding his fingers or pulling back his hand. All he remembered is the feeling of his fist in the crocodile's face.

Rumpelstiltskin doubled over as the pain throbbed in Hook's hand.

It was worth it.

"I will not let you hurt her," Hook hissed in the dark one's ear.

Emma pulled him away. She chided him—he didn't hear the words—and helped Rumpelstiltskin stand. The crocodile shrugged her away, wiping the blood from his mouth with his handkerchief. He left soon after that, more words between him and Emma, words Hook didn't hear.

He and the crocodile glared at each other all the time through.

Thus departed, Hook let his eyes fall to Emma, who stood before him with more words of chastisement.

"—And then how I am supposed to help you when you're in front of a court on battery charges?"

"Enough, lass." Hook closed his eyes in a request for peace and touched his hand to her arm. "Shall we return to your plans?"

Emma frowned. "Why do you refuse to understand how serious this stuff is? You can't go attacking people without good reason."

"I do understand, love." He kissed her forehead. "I had good reason."


	4. Operation Yo-Ho

The air-brakes on Storybrooke's school bus—the town only had two buses total—squeaked outside the Charmings' flat. Emma met Henry at the door with light punch to his shoulder, followed by an arm around his neck pulling him in for a quick hug.

"Hey, kid. School go good today?"

"Yep." Henry followed her into the kitchen. He tossed his backpack down the hall. It landed on the wood floor with a _thud_, and Emma arched an eyebrow. Henry huffed as he took it all the way to his room. "Happy?" he said, climbing onto a stool at the counter next to her. Two mugs of cocoa sat before her, topped with whipped cream and sprinkled with cinnamon.

Emma sucked whipped cream from her spoon and scooted his mug before him. "Yep."

They sat side by side. Emma marveled at that. How long had she fought just to enjoy a cup of cocoa with her son? She smiled. He dug into his mountain of melting whipped cream like his life was completely normal.

Bless that kid.

Emma bumped him gently with her elbow, and they traded smiles.

Henry dropped his spoon into his cup and folded his hands. All business-like. "So," he said, "what's this important meeting about?"

Emma stared at her spoon, licking the remnants of whipped cream from her lips. She plopped it into her own cup and fold her arms against the table. "We need to talk about a few things."

"I'm listening."

Emma took a breath. _We're ready for this_, she told herself. She'd been practicing all morning. "We need to talk about two things. The first is about your dad."

Henry glanced at his hands.

During the day, Emma gave lots of thought to the fact that she'd never really discussed Neal with Henry. When she found Neal in New York, his interaction with their son became a given. She didn't have a choice. But since he came to Storybrooke—with his fiancé, of all people—Emma felt they were back on her terms.

Plus, Neal's fiancé had nearly drowned Hook two weeks ago when the pirate refused to kidnap Henry on her behalf. Emma counted that as a strike against Neal's ability to judge character.

Nevertheless, he was Henry's dad.

"You know about Tamara and Greg."

Henry nodded. "I know Captain Hook got hurt protecting me."

"Yeah." Emma rolled the spoon handle in her fingers. She still remembered how he looked, bleeding and broken in that chair. "He did. So you know I don't like Tamara very much."

Henry smiled. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think Neal's going to marry her now."

No kidding.

"I just want you to know that I think it's important for you to spend time with Neal, even though I didn't approve of his fiancé."

"I appreciate it." Henry said. "I know you two are figuring things out. I appreciate that you can still share."

_Say it like that and we sound like toddlers. _Emma swallowed. _Keep going, Swan. _"I also think it's fair to tell you that I'm not promising to get back with Neal." Emma looked into her son's eyes, reading him. She could read lots of people. Even Hook, in all of his beautiful-green-eye glory. But staring into her son's eyes . . . That still gave her vertigo.

Henry looked down at his hands again.

_Sad, but not surprised. _

"I know," he finally said. "I guess I'm kinda hoping for that, but . . . I know. I want you to be happy, too."

"Your wellbeing comes before my happiness." Emma shifted so that she faced him. She took her hands in his and leaned forward. "What I did with Neal all those years ago? It was wrong. The stealing, the lying," she paused, "where our relationship went—it was wrong. I made bad choices. I regret those decisions."

Henry's eyebrows scrunched together. "Do you regret me?"

Emma shook her head. She ran a fingertip down the side of his face. "No."

"I don't understand."

"What I did was wrong," Emma said. She squeezed his hands and ran her tongue over her lips as she searched for the next sentence. "Actions have consequences. As a consequence of stealing, I went to jail. As a consequence of what I did with Neal, I had you. I had you _in _jail. I couldn't take care of you. I had to give you up. It hurt—it destroyed me. For a long time. Those were the consequences."

Henry looked away.

"However," Emma waited until he returned her gaze, "you are still precious. Having you like I did was wrong and hard, but that doesn't make _you _wrong. You are a great kid, Henry, with a lot of potential and a future just like everybody else. I am so glad you are here right now, in this place, in my life. I'm moving on from past mistakes. I will be the mother I have a responsibility to be."

Henry smiled. "I know."

Emma took a deep breath. "We can't move on from our mistakes without coming to terms with them. So I'm asking for your forgiveness, Henry. I'm sorry I made wrong choices. I'm sorry I was stupid and selfish. I'm sorry it affected your life. Can you forgive me?"

Henry didn't hesitate. He wrapped his arms around Emma's neck and hung against her. "I do, Mom. I really do."

They sat there like that for a while. Emma was pretty sure she cried just a little.

Pretty sure Henry did, too.

At last, she cleared her throat and set him back in his chair.

_Last part. _

Emma hated the last part.

"You also need to know: The very best person to be your dad, _is _your dad. Neal. He needs to be part of your life. He should have been a part of mine in a different way."

"So what are you saying?"

"I'm saying you are my responsibility, and you need two parents. I don't necessarily _want _to get back together with Neal, but he's your father, and you need him, so that may not matter."

Now Henry squeezed her hand. "But I want you to be happy, too."

She smiled. "Can't say I object to that. I don't know what I'll decide, but I do know that it has to be in your best interest. Maybe Neal and I will get back together. Maybe not. If we don't, you have to know that I will make it a _strong _priority to build him into your life."

Henry looked thoughtful. He was holding Emma's hands again and now his fingers tapped against hers as a thought. Emma gave him time.

"I think," he said at last, "that I always want time with Neal."

Emma nodded.

"But I also think that I want a dad who loves my mom, and the other way around." Henry looked up at Emma. Suddenly she felt like she was a scared, nine-year-old little girl, and Henry was the adult with lots of love and the words to make it all okay. "If you find somebody else that you think you love, we can talk about him being my dad, too."

Snap. That was just too much.

Emma cried. She wrapped her arms around Henry and cried, tears dripping from her face to his as she rested her cheek against the top of his head. Henry held her back just as tightly.

"We're gonna be okay," Emma murmured, sounding more shocked than relieved.

"Yeah." Henry sat up, taking a strong swig of cocoa that was now cold. "We're gonna be just fine, Mom."

They composed themselves in silence for the next few minutes. Quite a pair they made, staring ahead at the refrigerator, sipping cold cocoa with all the composure of the British behind their red-stained faces.

Emma couldn't take it any more and laughed, snorting whipped cream. Henry joined in. They rode it out for a while. Emma ruffled the hair on his head.

"Right," she sniffed, her turn to be business-like. "Now for item number two on the agenda."

Henry nodded.

"I think Captain Hook has made a lot of bad choices, like me. But I also think, given the right support, he can start making good choices."

"He did stand up for me."

"Exactly. So, I would like for the two of us to begin Operation Integration."

Henry's eyes sparkled. "What's that?"

"Our codename for getting Hook connected. Invite him over for dinner, help him make friends, keep him away from Gold."

"Buy him normal clothes," Henry laughed.

Emma snapped her fingers. "Good one! I should find him a job, too. Keep him out of the bar for a few hours."

"He could work with you."

Emma had never seen her son wiggle his eyebrows in such a sly manner. Her mouth popped open. Henry squealed when she grabbed him and tickled his stomach. "_You _have been spending entirely too much time with Grandpa."

When they calmed down, Emma put her chin in her hand. "So what do you say? Are you in for Operation Integration?"

"Whoa, whoa," Henry said, sounding about thirty-seven years old. "First of all, it needs a better name."

Emma looked offended. "What's wrong with my name? It's accurate."

"Yeah, and _boring._" Henry tapped his fingers on the counter. "How about . . . Operation Yo-Ho?"

A smile spread across Emma's face. "Wow. That is better."

"Totally." Henry paused. "You like Captain Hook, don't you?"

Emma bobbed her head. "I might see myself getting there."

"Are you guys . . . " He trailed off.

At first, Emma was horrified. What kind of mother was she, for him to ask her that? But then, she remembered who he was, who she was, where they lived. She sighed.

She was a broken mother. But also, a healing one.

"True love waits, kid." Emma settled on her elbows, bringing her mug to her lips. "I know that now."

Henry rolled his eyes. "C'mon. That's what they put on t-shirts."

"Hey, where does it say that a t-shirt can't be right every once in a while?"

Henry giggled.

"I'm not making those mistakes again." Emma continued, serious now. "You can come into whatever room you want, anytime Hook is over. I'm not doing anything I don't want you to see."

Henry raised an eyebrow. "Is that a promise? Because I'll hold you to it."

Emma chinked her mug against Henry's. "Please do."

Henry smiled into his cocoa. "Then Operation Yo-Ho is on."


	5. The Pirate Layer

**Author's note: **Hey guys! Glad you're liking so far. To clear up two questions: Thank you for pointing out that Hook's eyes are actually blue. In my stories, I made them green—my little way of acknowledging this is not canon material. Plus, I do like green eyes. :D Also, these events are indeed a continuation of "That Sinking Feeling," which tells the story of Hook nearly drowning at the hands of Greg and Tamara on behalf of Henry. They threatened to erase Emma's memories of Hook to cover up the murder, but she thwarted them and saved Hook before that happened. Thanks for reading! Four days until 3B! Here's hoping Captain Swan becomes a thing . . .

A few days passed after Emma's conversation with Henry. It was a particularly cool October afternoon in Maine. Emma glanced at her watch.

4:50.

"_What_?"

She abandoned the rest of her paperwork to the desk. She didn't even bother to put it away. The office door shut behind her as she jogged down the hall to Henry's room.

"Hey!" She poked her head around the corner. Henry looked up from his bed, where he lay reading a book. "Hook will be here soon. Are you sure you don't want to come?"

He shook his head. "You guys go. This will mean a lot to him. Besides, I'm going over to Mom's for dessert and a movie when she finishes up for the day."

A few months ago, it was weird to hear "Mom" come from his mouth in reference to her. Now it was weird to hear the same word applied to Regina. But Emma wasn't about to complain. So the kid had two mothers, a dad, a set of normal grandparents who happened to be her age, and a slightly redeemed grandfather.

At least he would get lots of Christmas presents.

Emma nodded. She pulled her head out of his room, but a second later, she poked it back in. She frowned. "Your bed is made."

Henry looked down at it. "Yeah?"

"Your bed is never made."

"I remembered."

Emma moved closer. She lifted the comforter, only to find creases in the sheet corners sharp enough to cut bread with. "You made your bed _military _style. Where did you even learn how to do that?"

Henry smiled. "Hook showed me. Day before yesterday while you were gone getting ice cream for dessert. We set the table and then I took him to see my room. He saw the bed and made me make it. But it's not military style, Mom. It's _navy_." And with that, he went back to his book.

Navy?

Emma almost couldn't puzzle that into her understanding of the man. _Former naval officer. _In the service of her parents' neighbor kingdom, no less. She closed her eyes.

_Lieutenant Jones. _

Uniform. Hat. Shiny sword. Clean boots. Buttoned-up coat. Clean shaven. Following orders. Yes, sir. No, sir. Come about, men. Look tidy now. A beaming little brother.

She could see it. Barely.

_I wonder if he ever battled another ship. Legally. _

She tried to imagine him as the rising star among officers, the kingdom's best and brightest. Patriotic. Facing risks in the name of a king. Fighting the kingdom's enemies alongside his brother.

Emma's eyes bulged at a thought. _Rum less!_

The knock at the door interrupted her mental efforts. She opened it to find the man in the pirate clothes.

"Afternoon! Sorry I'm late. Had to stop for a refill." Hook smiled his easy smile and wiggled his canteen in the air.

Emma stared at him, projecting. _Uniform. Hat. Patriotic. _She stared at him as if she could peel away the pirate to glimpse the officer underneath.

Hook tilted his head. "Not that I'm complaining, love," he purred in that way of his, "but if you've invited me over for the sole purpose of staring at one another, perhaps we'd be sensible enough to do it indoors. Your land is bloody freezing."

"Killian Jones," Emma murmured, almost under her breath but not quite.

_Uniform. Hat. _

_Respectable. Beaming little brother. _

Lands and stars above, she could see it! (Did she really just say that? Now she was talking like him.)

Emma saw green eyes and dark hair under a crisp white hat—or so Mary Margaret had described the kingdom's uniforms. A double-breasted jacket with gold buttons. Square shoulders. Long gait. Expectant gaze cast to his older brother. Sea breeze in his hair. The railing of the kingdom's ship beneath his hands.

Hook blinked. "What did you just say?"

Emma stood there, staring. It was like standing in a dark room and somebody had flipped on the lights. How could she not see it before?

Killian Jones, dressed as a pirate.

Hook shifted closer. His eyes stared right back at her, and suddenly he looked afraid. "What are you doing?" he whispered. He looked like he wanted to run.

Emma shook her head. She blinked. He was a pirate again, staring at her like she was going to break him into little pieces.

"Sorry," she smiled quickly. "I was, uh, thinking. Come inside."

She nudged the door shut behind him and hurried to the closet. "I just have to get my coat. It's in the low forties today."

Hook grunted. He removed the phone from its base in the kitchen and ran his fingers over the rubber buttons. "I believe I shall be unimpressed with your winter, here." He turned it over, frowning. "What is this?"

Emma took the phone from his hands. "I'm ready. Let's go." She paused in the doorway, appraising him. "You're wearing a leather coat."

The corners of his mouth lifted. "I do that, occasionally."

His hands were bare and his neck was exposed by that ridiculous collar that definitely did _not _accentuate his cheekbones. Definitely not.

"We're going somewhere outside. I don't want you to be cold."

Hook stepped into her space. He held her eyes with his own and reached his fingers to just brush hers at her side. "I've a solution for that."

She always backs up, she realized. Always shuts him down. He never shows it, but how does that hurt him, she wonders. Does she leave tiny cuts in his heart when she brushes him off?

She didn't want to hurt him. She wanted to stay where she was. So, she did. She stood her ground long enough for him to realize she hadn't moved, and when he did, a smile tiptoed onto his face that was all surprise and a little hope.

"I have a solution, too." Emma slipped her red scarf off and looped it twice around his neck. She fluffed it so it brushed his cheeks, and then she slipped her right glove off and stretched it over his good hand. "A little small," she smiled, "but it is black leather. Call it a welcoming present." Carried away by sheer impulse, Emma slid to her tiptoes and kissed him on the cheek. The scruff on his cheeks was scratchy and _so _okay.

Hook looked afraid to speak, afraid to move.

Although her heart was already hammering away at her ribcage—gosh, she cannot believe she just _kissed _the man without thinking twice—Emma sucked in a deep breath and grabbed his hand as she turned towards the door.

It was a little sudden, at first, but based on his slack-jawed expression, she didn't think he noticed.

Emma led him outside. She turned to lock the front door, and then they stepped down the three porch steps to the sidewalk. They walked in the direction of the town outskirts.

Not once did she let go of his hand.

By the time they reached the end of her street, his fingers curled around hers. She may never let go.


	6. Anchor

"So what is this surprise?" Hook said as Emma led him across a wide road.

Lands, he hated when she marched across the same path the metal carriages used. She tried to explain something about colored lights indicating when it was safe to cross. In his opinion, no little light would ever convince him it was safe to cross the path of something moving _that fast_.

He savored the feel of her hand in his. If he took a deep sniff, her scarf around his neck filled him with her aroma: Fresh and lightly spiced. Strawberries and cinnamon.

Hook couldn't fathom what inspired the gift, or the kiss, or her hand holding his, but he liked it.

And was it just his imagination, or had she said his name? She knew what it was, but she'd never used it. The way she looked at him back there . . . He felt seconds away from falling over a cliff.

Emma didn't answer him. She just smiled and bounced along. Lands, she was practically skipping!

Hook pulled on her arm gently, bringing her into his side as they walked in tandem. He folded his neck and smiled close to her face. "What's gotten into you?"

Emma just tossed her head and kept her eyes frontward. "You'll see."

Her smile was bright and uninhibited and beautiful. He found himself smiling back. He felt fifteen pounds light and floated along the walking path as he resettled his fingers around hers.

Confound it, she was making him giddy.

As they passed shops and intersections, they saw children walking about with their mums. Destined for evening plans. Time with family. Adventures and fun.

Emma lifted their entwined hands to wave at Ruby from inside Granny's dinner. Ruby laughed, and so did Emma.

Hook heard his own voice laughing, and he had absolutely no idea why. His canteen pulled gently in his jacket pocket, and he realized, for the first time in practically forever, he had no interest in tasting its contents.

He was drunk on Emma.

The wind stung their cheeks, but her scarf protected him from its full bite. His felt his nose grow cold as his hand generated heat within the tight fit of Emma's glove. A strong blast caught him right in the face, and he had to blink the tears away.

"We're almost there," Emma said. Her nose was as red as her scarf. Her cheeks were pink and her hair blew in the breeze and lands above, she was so adorable, he could just eat her up here on the sidewalk.

Emma led them away from the noise of the metal carriages and the shops. They crossed one last street and approached a grassy field littered with lots of rocks. When they were closer, Hook made out low wrought iron fence, and trees in the distance.

A little closer, he saw the rocks arranged in rows and columns.

Hook stopped. The entry gate lay several yards ahead.

Emma looked at him. "It's okay. The surprise is inside."

"You brought me to a cemetery?" Hook said slowly. He tried a smile. "Are you going to murder me, Swan?"

Emma smiled. "Trust me." She pulled on his hand, but he didn't move.

Hook glanced around. "I, um, am not found of cemeteries."

She squeezed his hand. "Cemeteries are where we honor those no longer with us. Where we remember our heritage. Where we feel connected."

"I know what a cemetery _is, _love," he scoffed lightly. "I just don't like death."

The look she held him with didn't relent. "It's going to be okay," she whispered. "Just trust me."

Hook eyed the entry gate. A suspicion lolled about in his stomach, insisting this had something to do with the way she looked at him back at the house. His canteen weighed a little heavier in his pocket, and he glanced over his shoulder at the path behind them. Something in his head called him to run.

"You can do this," Emma said. "I won't leave you."

Hook's eyes jumped to hers. She chose those words on purpose, he was certain.

He drew a breath. Emma's fingers tightened around his, and he followed her inside. The gate squeaked as they passed through it.

"This is Storybrooke's only cemetery," Emma said. She spoke quietly as they eased down a grass lane between tombstones. Trees ringed the field, offering birds shelter as they sang, soft and unseen. Some of the grass was quite tall, brushing Hook's knees above the cuff of his boots.

Emma led him to the far side of the cemetery. It was private here. A little hill separated these tombstones from the view of the entry gate. Her boots crunched the grass and dirt as she approached two shiny black stones.

Hook swallowed, but he clung to her hand and followed.

They stopped a few feet away. Emma's free hand found his arm just above the elbow and held there with a light touch. She glanced up at him, only to see him already reading the inscriptions.

_Milah_

_Loved by many. Departed too soon._

_Here you may rest in safety._

Water brimmed in Hook's eyes. He pulled in air to breathe and it shuddered past his lips.

He was choking. "Has he seen this?"

"No. Neither will Neal." Emma touched his shoulder. "This is for you."

Hand leaving Emma's, Hook drifted forward. He crouched before the second marker. The black stone was so glossy, he saw his own reflection. He traced the white, engraved words with his fingertips.

Wet lips whispered broken words as his tears spilled down his face:

"_Captain Liam Jones_

_Respected officer. Beloved brother._

_A man of honor dearly missed."_

Hook dropped to his knees. He rested his head against the cool stone and broke. His sobs rode the breeze down the hill, where they mingled with the murmurs of birds and stringed insects. Hook felt a hand brush the back of his neck—Emma, telling him she was still here—before it left and her footsteps faded down the hill.

And just like that, Killian Jones was in Amryeth, the kingdom's capital. The noise of cart wheels and street venders jangled in his ears, in a familiar sort of chorus. His uniform held him in, clean and stiff and snug. A second skin. His boots clung to his calves and his tailored gloves fit just so. His sword swung at his side, reflecting the midday sun. Bobbing beneath his feet, the _Jewel _shifted, eager to go.

Killian could see the crew's faces as clearly as he could see his reflection in the tombstone's gloss. He stood tall among them, proud, smiling. Sharp, precise, excellent in form and quality, all of them. Boots fell against cobblestone, and Killian turned, beaming smile growing wider. His brother stepped aboard, and all Killian needed to be happy was before him. His heart felt whole.

"Killian," his brother's voice boomed strong in his memory. How he loved the way his brother used to say his name. "Everything looks perfect, as usual." Liam's eyes sparkled. "Are you ready to go with me, little brother?"

"_To the ends of the earth, brother."_

Hook closed his eyes as the water slid from his lids. His good hand reached to grip the corner of Milah's stone while his hooked arm clutched Liam's.

He had never taken the time to memorialize Liam. He'd been too consumed with hate to honor Milah.

Hook's heart twanged. How could he have forgotten them? After three hundred years, they finally had a place to rest.

"I'm sorry, my love." His dared only to whisper. His voice sounded like an effrontery in the sacred stillness of this place. "Rest now." Hook released Milah's grave.

His head slid down Liam's stone until it found the cool dirt. He dug his good hand into the dirt until he felt stones under his fingernails. "I miss you, brother," Hook cried. "How I miss you. Come back to me."

* * *

Emma would stay here as long as Hook wanted, even if her hand froze off.

The wind whistled by her ears as her long stride took her away from Hook. She descended to the bottom of the hill, where only a handful of tombstones lined the bank of a small crick. Emma pushed her hands deeper into her coat pocket. Her gloveless fingers were swollen with cold.

_Let them freeze. _

Faintly, she could hear Hook's cries. She closed her eyes but kept walking. There was nothing she could do, except let him mourn. Properly. For the first time.

Emma knew plenty about mourning.

Her feet brought her to the tombstone she so often visited. No one knew—not even Mary Margaret. Everyone had forgotten this piece of their history. It belonged to a time when Emma didn't believe and people had names like David, Mary, Ruby, Ashley, and Archie. It was a world ago, an eon.

And on the occasional morning, when Emma walked into the quiet office with her coffee in hand and star pinned to her chest, and she saw those two empty desks, it felt like yesterday.

Emma crouched before the stone. This one was just grey, not shiny like the ones she'd bought for Milah and Liam. She traced the name. The rough cut of the rocks felt familiar under her fingers.

_Graham_

_A good man._

_Gone but never forgotten._

The words were sparse because back then, his death was just a heart attack. He had no family to memorialize him, and few friends. Emma chose the words at the time without realizing the depth of their truth: Graham _was_ a good man. He had protected Snow White as the huntsman. And then he braved his memories as the sheriff despite Regina.

Emma closed her eyes. She tried, _how hard she tried_, not to dwell on that. Henry was navigating a complex family and did not need his mothers reopening an old wound.

Yet some days it still burned in Emma's chest because, blast it all, _she got away with it. _Regina ripped Graham from Emma's life just seconds after he tasted freedom, and she never paid for it. He was the first to understand who he was and what Emma would do, and he didn't even live long enough to tell her.

So much had happened after that. People changed sides so often, Emma found herself standing next to Regina facing threats, trusting her with her own life, with her_ son's _life, and she wondered how she could let the queen stand there, alive, when Graham lay in the ground, dead.

Where was the justice in that?

That sounded familiar. Where had she heard that?

A few nights ago, when Hook was over for dinner. Henry had gone to bed, and they stayed at the kitchen counter, just talking. Hook was sharing in greater detail than ever the story of Rumpelstiltskin and Milah, of her death and how she had never been laid to rest, which is where Emma got the tombstone idea.

Emma's breath caught in her throat.

She understood. Oh, how she understood now! They were the same. Every day Regina and Rumpelstiltskin drew breath was another desecrated day to the memory of Emma's and Hook's loved ones.

How could they be expected to forgive that?

Emma rested her head against the rough granite. She sighed a sigh that came from deep within her chest.

Forgiveness was the only way to end a cycle of revenge.

Snow had told her that. Charming had told her that. Ruby had told her that. Belle had told her that.

Henry had told her that.

Tears slipped from her eyes as she fingered the petals of the winter flowers braving the cold. Bringing Graham company.

"I'm sorry, Graham," she whispered. "I have to let you go. I know you would want me to let you go."

Time passed, or perhaps it didn't. Emma heard boots approaching, and then a hand touched her neck. She looked up. Hook stood over her, shoulders loose, head heavy. His face was a mess.

He drew her into his arms and rested his wet chin on her head. His body weighed on her like it would collapse without support. She buried her face in his chest, arms crushing his waist lest she loose her grip and float away.

* * *

Hook crushed Emma into him as if they could merge into one if they tried hard enough. She had a grip on his waist tight enough to cut off circulation, but at the moment, he didn't particularly care.

Over her shoulder, he saw the name on the stone. It was familiar enough. Emma had told him the story, although he pieced together on his own what she didn't tell him—how much the man meant.

Hook's chest shuddered against hers as he pulled a breath down a swollen throat, and he marveled in how soothing it was to hold someone who knew pain such as his.

His face felt ready to chafe in the cold wind, it was so wet. He pressed his cheek against the satin of her hair and whispered, "Thank you."

Emma lifted her face and moved her arms up around his neck. "When you forget who you are, he can remind you. Like an anchor."

Hook cried into her neck. His whisper tickled her ear. "I want to be Killian Jones, again."

"You will be." Emma kissed him.

Hook met her and kissed her back, holding her too him like he needed her to breathe. The cold swirled around them, but they paid it no mind.

They could anchor each other amid the storm.


	7. No More Games

"Before anyone gets out of the car," Emma said as she slid into what was probably the only free parking spot on the entire eastern half of Boston. (Nice to see she hadn't lost her touch.) "What are the rules?"

Four huffs answered her.

"Really Emma," Mary Margaret said from shotgun, "we've _been _shopping before."

"I haven't." Hook raised his prosthetic and caught Emma smiling at him in the rearview mirror.

"None of you have been in a city like this before. Except Henry. So that makes us the adults."

"Sweet!" Henry said. He would have cheered, but for the lack of room. He sat in the back, squished between grandfather and pirate. He was having a great time.

"But I'm still in charge," Emma said, catching Henry's wild smile in the mirror and struggling not to reciprocate. "Now, rules."

Henry sighed. "No touching stuff."

"No wandering off," David said.

"No gawking," Mary Margaret said.

Emma looked at Hook in the mirror. His smile was all teeth and eyebrows.

"No indecent remarks."

"Yeah, especially you, buddy. Don't think I'm taking my eyes off you for a second."

Hook stared back at her, eyebrows doing something dangerous. He didn't have to say it because they were both thinking it.

"_I would despair if you did."_

Dang it, even in her head his voice had a lilt.

_Whatever_.

Having sufficiently leveled her threats, Emma unlocked the doors. Henry's enthusiasm was contagious; they practically tripped on each other getting out. Mary Margaret and David led the way out of the parking garage with Henry running in circles behind them.

* * *

Hook lingered beside the car. He held his fake hand in his good one but studied the hook lying on the seat. _Bloody thing._

Emma came up behind him. "I thought you had decided."

"Changed my mind." He attached his fake hand with the enthusiasm he felt back in the days when he ate spoiled stew at the taverns just to get a free meal. He looked over his shoulder at the retreating forms of her parents. His eyes lingered on their hands. "I wish to fit in."

Why he wished it, he hadn't the foggiest. Three hundred years of roaming free never bothered him. His home was the ship he sailed on. His was the horizon and the sky and creatures of the depths. At times, he had a crew, and at others, he sailed alone. So be it. Liam died, and he took with him the only thing Hook had worth caring for. Milah was a resurgence, a taste of hope that things could matter again, but she was taken away before they'd fully begun.

So here he stood, lifetimes later, in a strange city of metal carriages and blinking lights, feeling that dangerous tug inside his chest to care again. Last week Emma had given him a resting place for Liam and Milah. He'd been drunk on her smiles before, and he was just drunk on _her _afterwards. But the moments ended and in the evenings, it was still a pirate looking back in him from the mirror.

He'd been a pirate longer than he'd been anything else. But what if he had to give that up to make the moments last? He had nothing left to be.

_What else have I?_

Hook shut the car door, loathing the wooden hand clipped to the end of his brace. He would do this. He would walk out into that crowd of chattering, nattering people and let Swan change him, and maybe, just maybe, he would recognize the man when she was done. Maybe it was for the best. Maybe it was time for Captain Hook to die, as well.

To Hook's surprise, Emma hadn't moved. He couldn't pass her in the narrow space between the two metal carriages. She studied him with her Thinking Frown—that's what he called it, privately—and Hook couldn't help resenting the feeling of being reduced to one of her projects. He was a responsibility to her, right now. Someone who needed saved.

Hook fidgeted in place. "Shall we go?"

Emma opened the door. When she picked up his hook and held it out to him, in broad daylight for all the bloody world to see, Hook pushed her arm back down.

"Swan, don't," he warned her. He glanced around their surroundings. For all the metal carriages in the metal-carriage-castle, there was no one around.

"Look at me."

Emma's eyes caught his and wouldn't let them go.

"You will fit in here."

"Yes, I'm certain you'll be thorough." Hook tried to push past her.

"The _real _you."

Hook snickered. "Yes. The real me. Are you going to define that for me, as well? I hope you wrote it down, love, because it shall take some practice to remember my lines straight, but I promise, I'll do my best. Perhaps you'll be good enough to show me where I should sit when told, and what I ought to think, and how I should speak. I don't want to disappoint you, Swan, so just tell me how to be a good little project and I'll oblige my savior."

He regretted it once it left his mouth, but confound it all, he was just so tired.

Emma swallowed. She shut the metal door without making a sound. She looked down at her shoes for a long time. Hook thought she was crying, so when she looked up with eyes burning like coals, he almost jumped.

"If you think," she whispered in a voice that could cut a man apart, "I am focused on anything less than your best interests, you've been living in your self-pity so long it's blinded you."

Hook opened his mouth, but Emma went on.

"_Everything _I've done has been about healing you." Her eyes were still flashing, but now he did see the tears behind them. "I'm not asking you to shut away your pain and pretend to be something you're not. I'm asking you to give me your pain, because _somebody _around here deserves a happy ending, and so help me, that somebody is going to be you."

Hook's mouth went so dry he almost couldn't part his lips. "Emma—"

"I'm not finished," she hissed. "And if you think that doesn't hurt," Emma swallowed again and shook her head, "you're wrong. We're the same, you and I. An echo. I feel your losses and suddenly mine are back, and I'm twelve years old all over again. But I can take it—I _will _take it—if that's what it takes to save you."

Hook felt about two inches tall.

"So no, I don't care what you wear, you stupid pirate." Emma held out his hook. "It's your turn to feel again, and don't you dare do it as anything less than who you really are."

When Hook let out the breath he didn't realize he was holding, it sounded like an old man's death rattle. His world had just come apart. He settled his fingers over hers, the metal of his hook cool beneath both their hands. "Perhaps," he whispered, "we might save each other."

Emma's jaw tightened. "I don't need saved."

"That's not fair." His tone was gentle but firm. "We can't be there for you?"

"That's not how it works. They need me to be strong enough."

"I'm not them."

Emma reached for his hand. She twisted the fake block off and clicked the hook into place. Hook watched her fingers work his brace. Suddenly it felt intimate—far too intimate—and Emma pulled her hands away. She shoved them in her jean pockets.

"No one has ever braved a storm to come in after me."

Emma looked up at him. She seemed relieved he finally got it. She smiled—professional, strong. "I'll handle it. It's going to be okay."

Hook shook his head. "No. I don't want to play the game anymore, Swan. It's time to come clean."

Emma looked scared.

"You save them, not me, understand? All I need to be safe is you. All of you. The brave part, the scared part, the hurting part. If you want to save me, that's what it's going to take."

Emma looked down at her shoes. "That's harder."

"I know." Hook ducked to catch her eyes. "But we can do this. We can let each other in. I'm tired of being alone. Aren't you?"

Emma's breath hitched. She just looked down at her shoes and nodded.

Hook took her in his arms. For the second time in as many weeks, they clung to each other. This time, though, it was with the promise of more to come.

"I've got you," Emma whispered.

"And I've got you."

When they'd had their fill, Hook rested his forehead against hers. He closed his eyes and wanted to remember always what this felt like. "Tell me something."

"You first."

He played with the ends of her scarf. "I've been a pirate a long time," he said, "It's comfortable. I want to be Killian Jones again, but I'm scared."

Emma worked her bottom lip. "I've been the person people count on for a long time," she said. "All things considered, it's easy now. I want to let somebody else do the caring, but I'm sacred."

Hook kissed her forehead.

Emma pointed the little black wand at the metal carriage. "Let's go, Killian Jones. Time to change the pirate clothes."

He held out his hand. She looked at it, and then she took it. Hook smiled.


	8. Nooses

Emma led her little band through the entry arches of the mall's largest department store: Kohl's.

Mary Margaret, David, and Hook were all eyes.

"So this is a _shopping mall_," her mother mused.

David looked up. "There's two floors. Of clothes."

"Yep," Henry said, drawing out every letter in a tone of resignation that spoke to previous, unfortunate experience. "And lots of shoes."

Emma glanced at Hook. He was slack jawed, taking in the quadrants of clothing racks, the human-sized posters hanging below the ceiling on the walls, the cash register counter in the middle. To their left, a group of middle school girls were rifling through the Justice clothes by the door. Hook flinched when they squealed.

In retrospect, this was probably not the best entrance to have used.

Emma reached out with her little finger to bump his hand. He looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow. He nodded. He was okay.

"Right," Emma cleared her throat. "Henry, do you think you can manage Grandpa?"

"Hey!" David said.

"Sure thing." Henry knocked his elbow into David's. "Are we allowed to go anywhere?"

Emma held up a finger. "He needs _one _tie. And then you can go to hunting store."

A guilty smile that looked freakishly similar to Hook's guilty smile spread across her son's face. "Wow. You _are _good."

"Uh-huh." Emma told Mary Margaret she could go wherever she wanted in Kohl's, but she was welcomed to join her and Hook on their clothing mission. Mary Margaret said she would catch up to them when she was done checking out the, ahem, shoes.

"You keeping an eye on him?" Henry nodded at Hook.

"Oy!" Hook ruffled Henry's hair. "I thought you were on my side, mate."

"Keeping you out of jail _is _being on your side, pirate."

Emma watched Hook smile when Henry used what had practically become her term of endearment for him. She tried not to think about why she was so pleased they got on. "Yes, I'll keep an eye on Hook. We're here on a mission."

Henry snickered. "Buddy, are you in for it now."

"When did you get so cynical?"

"Mom, I'm a boy. We are all born with an innate sense of doom and disaster upon entering a clothes store."

Emma rolled her eyes. "Go take your innate sense of doom and disaster to the tie department. Hook and I will be in men's casual trying on jeans."

As they departed their separate ways, Hook hastened to catch up with Emma, asking as he went, "Swan, what are 'jeans'?"

* * *

Emma held three pairs of jeans to her chest as she slid hangers down the rack. Since Hook's clothes had no sizes, she had to start with her best guess and hone in from there. It's not like she had tons of practice buying men's clothes.

"Please tell me this is not how 'jeans'are intended to be worn."

Hook stepped out of the dressing room, all salty- and leathery-pirate glory on top . . . and a pair of dark denim jeans about four inches too short on bottom. Emma laughed. He still wore every single one of his rings—she couldn't get him to take them off—and his red pirate vest. Compared to the three hundred year old leather coat, however, she probably didn't need to worry about the rings drawing too much attention.

"I shall interpret your amusement at my ridiculous appearance as confirmation that this is not the desired effect."

Emma handed him a size larger. "Try again."

He sighed when he accepted them. "I cannot actually breathe in these pants."

That was just too much. Emma lost it.

Hook's lips lifted in a quirky smile. "I'm glad you are amused Swan, because so far I have been nothing but embarrassed. Did you know that there are _other _people that will just enter the changing quarters unannounced? I thought the purpose of you standing here was to keep intruders out."

Emma slugged him on the arm. "Oh my goodness, Hook. You're supposedto go into the little rooms!"

Hook frowned. "The doors? I thought they were closets."

"No! They're _changing rooms_. You've been undressing in the hallway? Oh my gosh." Emma closed her eyes and pinched her nose bridge. "It's a wonder we haven't gotten arrested."

Hook swept his hand towards the door.

"Then the serving staff should not put such a large and splendid mirror in the area unintended for changing. What is the purpose of that?"

"Ssshhh!" Emma glanced over her shoulder. People were staring. "Just—go change, please. _In _the changing rooms," she added.

He turned to go, but he was jostled by a twenty-something kid in jeans and a hoodie. The kid stared at him half a second longer than necessary, brushing past him as he muttered. Emma caught the word "freak."

Hook watched him go.

"Hey," Emma touched his arm, "he was just laughing at the pants. They are a little short. Try the ones I gave you."

Hook looked around. There were a few people searching the racks of discounted shirts, tossing glances their way about every twenty seconds. Emma noticed them several minutes ago. Hook must have seen them too, because he glanced down.

"Perhaps we should go."

Emma popped onto her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. "There's nothing wrong with you."

Hook returned to the changing room. While he was gone, Emma hurried to the discounted shirt rack and pulled a plain green t-shirt from the hanger. Hook reemerged and they decided they finally had the size right, but the cut was wrong.

"They're still too tight." Emma gave him a pair of relaxed fit jeans. "These are more natural. See how you like them. Oh—before you do that, switch me."

Emma pulled the coat off his shoulders. She grunted when it fell into her arms. _This thing must at least weigh eight pounds. _When she dropped it into the black standing cart, it rocked. Hook eyed the green shirt she offered him.

"Just to avoid unnecessary questions while we're still in the pants stage," she said.

"So I should put this on?"

"Yes."

Without hesitation, Hook tossed his vest into the cart and then—

_Oh my gosh, please no._

But oh yes, he whipped off his shirt. Right in the middle of the aisle. He stood there completely innocent, in his dark denim jeans and his leather cord necklace and his hooked brace, with absolutely nothing else on top.

Oh yes. Now people stared.

"_Hook! Put your shirt on!" _Emma clamped a hand over her mouth when she realized she was shouting.

More people staring. Terrific.

He looked flustered as he took the green shirt from her. "What? You told me to—"

"I didn't mean _out here_! We have decency laws, for Pete's sake." Emma groaned. _This is not his fault, this is not his fault, _she chanted to herself. _You have to be precise._

A rotund security guard approached them. He eyed the cart full of leather wear and the half-dressed man in jeans, struggling to put on his t-shirt.

"Uh, ma'am, the store has a 'No shirt, no service' policy . . ."

"Yes, sir." Emma nodded. "Sorry about that. Just a miscommunication. It won't happen again."

The guard glanced at Hook. Thank heavens he had gotten his shirt on. But the relief was short lived because the shirt had short sleeves, exposing his brace and his hook to all watching eyes.

"Also, we have a no weapon policy . . ."

Emma cleared her throat. "I understand, sir, but as you can see he, uh, doesn't have . . ."

The guard caught on. He reddened. "Right. Well, let's just mind the shirt rule, then."

"Thank you."

While he shuffled away, Emma glanced around, and suddenly everyone was busy studying price tags.

Hook shifted. His good hand held his brace. "I, uh—"

"It's okay." She found a long-sleeved shirt for him and added it to the relaxed fit jeans. "Try those."

Hook's eyes lingered over her shoulder at all the people passing through the store.

"We're almost there," Emma said softly. "Just trust me. You'll feel perfectly fine in a minute."

A twinkled warmed his eyes. His spirits seemed to rise as he bent towards her ear. "Did you notice how quiet all the young ladies got a moment ago?"

"C'mon, Casanova. We've got lots of wardrobe to find, yet."

* * *

"I'm being strangled!"

"For crying out loud, Hook, it's just a tie."

"You're trying to kill me."

"It's _formal _wear."

"It's a noose."

"You need it."

"Get it off me."

"It's perfectly fine!"

"It's tightening its grip. I can't breathe."

"Hook, it's just a tie."

"Then why is the bloody thing constricting?"

"Uh, I don't know. Maybe because you're _pulling on it_?"

Emma groaned into her hand. Hook writhed in front of the mirror and tugged on the silk tie threaded under the collar of his dress shirt. He was making gagging noises and if he kept that up, the idiot probably _would _strangle himself. Emma caved and untied it.

Hook massaged his throat. "We are _not _buying that," he rasped.

Despite many trials and persecutions, Emma had built up his wardrobe to consist of seven pairs of jeans, half a dozen dark t-shirts, four dark button-up shirts, two vests, one black hoodie, and one human-sized leather jacket. (Hook had found it in the coat section and ran up to her with beaming eyes. When she told him he had enough leather to open a beef jerky factory, he planted his feet and folded his arms and looked nigh close to throwing a tantrum if she refused him this).

The only thing—the _only _thing—she still wanted to do was find him a single, solitary suit in the event he needed something formal.

_You'd think I asked him to give up rum._

First the dress pants were too uncomfortable—"I rather like that jean stuff, love. This is scratchy."—and then the dress shirts were too constrictive—"Why on earth are there collars around my wrists? Is it not enough I can't breathe? Must I strangle every part of my body?"

And then, heaven help them all, Emma had been foolish enough to bring out a tie.

"I thought you used to wear a uniform," she finally said, hands on her hips.

"That was a long time ago." Hook thrust the tie at her with a pout. "I am _not _wearing that."

_Lightbulb_.

Emma let out a slow, smooth smile. She bit her lip. She blinked. "But you looked so good in it."

Hook stopped.

Emma swung her shoulders around and clasped her hands behind her back. She blinked and smiled some more.

"No."

She tilted her head to one side.

"What do you take me for?"

She bent her knees and tucked one foot behind the other.

"I know what you're doing."

Emma looked him right in the eyes and turned everything on high. She ducked her head and lifted it with another smile that destroyed Hook's frown.

He looked away with a head shake, muttering, "Bloody siren."

Emma hid behind her hands as she held up a finger. "Just one more time?"

When he couldn't take it any longer, Hook laughed. Emma smiled at her victory and held out the tie. "This time, let's do it right." The grey vest he'd picked out left the shopping cart, and Emma pulled a black suit jacket from the wall display. She slipped the vest onto his shoulders and buttoned up the front.

"I do like the service here," Hook murmured.

She took her time adjusting it. Her fingers went to the collar of his dress shirt, making sure everything lay as it should. "Okay. Here comes the tie. Just relax." She looped it behind his neck.

Hook held his breath.

"That's not relaxing." Emma poked him in the gut, and he flinched away, laughing. Emma pulled him back using the tie. With a smile and a hum, he settled his arms around her, clasping his brace with his good hand at the small of her back. He swayed ever so slightly as her fingers worked the knot.

"And where," Hook whispered in her ear, "am I expected to wear this . . . 'tie'?"

"Formal occasions. Weddings. Ceremonies. Big parties. Anytime you want to look particularly nice."

Hook tilted his head to the side so his eyes could see hers. "Is there dancing at these places?"

"Sometimes."

Finished with the tie, Emma wanted to put the suit coat on him. He kept her where she was and dropped a kiss onto her nose. "I'll wear the noose," he whispered, "if you promise to dance with me at the first occasion."

"Deal."

As the final portion of the experience, Emma helped his arms into the black suit coat. She adjusted the cuffs and buttoned the front. When she was finished, she took a step back to get the complete affect.

Emma nearly fell over.

"Well?" Hook said.

_Dang_.

Hook looked down at his pants, and then back up at her. "Is there something wrong?"

Some part of her brain told her she was gawking, but a larger portion said she didn't care.

"Swan?"

The dark hair and the dark facial features kept him a pirate—well, okay, so did the eyeliner—but the black contemporary suit sharpened his edges. The man was devastating. Somewhere, it was illegal to look that good. If he ever, _ever _found out what this outfit did to her, he would never take it off.

Hook waved his hand for her attention. "Is it presentable?"

Emma turned him by the shoulders so he faced the mirror. "See for yourself."

* * *

Hook stared at the figure before him. He reached for the glass as he drew near. "And this is acceptable in your world?"

Under no circumstances would Emma let out the laugh building inside her. She had to choke to keep it down. "Yeah. You look fine."

Except for his hook, he was indistinguishable from any regular person walking down the street. He could enter the places of merchants without making their door guards stiffen. He could speak to people without receiving stares.

Although Swan was staring. Swan wasn't even blinking, she stared so hard.

"Are you sure this is satisfactory?" Hook said to her. "You look taken back. Should I try again?"

Her mouth didn't quite close and she acted like she hadn't heard.

And then it clicked.

A slow smile spread across Hook's face that lifted the corners of his mouth nearly to the corner of his eyes. "I look good, don't I?"

Emma snapped out of it. "Um, yep. You look fine. Let's go check out."

Hook caught her arm with his namesake. To escape him, she stared at the garment racks with undue interest. "You like this," he said, arching an eyebrow.

Emma swallowed. "It's—not bad."

A chuckle rumbled deep in his chest. "Lands and stars, you do like this."

Emma threw her hands into the air. "So you look good in a suit. That's not shocking_._"

His other eyebrow shot up.

She bit her lip and looked away.

Hook laughed. "Sweetheart, I'm going to need more of these nooses."


	9. The Yo-Ho List

Two weeks later, Emma found herself processing yet another breaking and entering complaint from Gold. Lands, if he wasn't the most paranoid man she'd ever met.

The phone rang. Emma looked at her watch: 11:30, on a Wednesday. Probably a disruption complaint at a place of business. Terrific.

"Storybrooke sheriff department. This is Sheriff Swan."

It was her mom. "You need to come to the school. Now."

Emma stood. "Is Henry okay?"

"He's fine. It's just—Hook is here. I'm pretty sure he's drunk. He came to find Henry at recess."

"On my way. Keep him away from the kids. Don't let him hurt himself."

Emma jammed her car keys into the ignition. The old Volkswagon rumbled onto Main Street as she choked the life out of the steering wheel.

_Again? Seriously? What's it going to take? _She depressed the brakes for a red light, and as the car rolled back on its tires, Emma had a thought. _What if nothing is enough?_

She talked about saving him, but ultimately it was his choice how he lived his life. She couldn't choose for him anymore than she could choose for Regina or Gold. She could only give him positive things to live for.

As Emma accelerated through the green light and later steered the car into the school parking lot, she just hoped they were enough.

"Swan!" Hook called from his exalted position at the high end of a teeter-totter. He waved.

Henry returned his mother's nod as she approached.

"Good idea," she said, glancing at the teeter-totter.

Henry let a chortling Hook down to the ground, and then when he'd caught his balance, raised him into the air again. The pirate called out _"Wheee!" _and threw his hands up.

Emma raised her eyebrows. "He is _really _gone."

"It's embarrassing." Henry said.

"How long has he been here?"

"About ten minutes." Henry let Hook down and pointed towards the east side of town. "He came from that way. I think he was at the waterfront drinking."

Hook threw his leg over the teeter-totter saddle and ambled towards the merry-go-round. He spun in circles on his way there.

Emma just stared. "Gee. Why would you assume that?"

"Come hither, little cygnet," Hook called over his shoulder, swaying in place as he pointed at the merry-go-round, "and show me how yonder metal contraption works."

"What is he calling you?"

Henry gave her a pained look as he went to Hook. "You don't want to know." He grabbed his arm. "You're plenty dizzy, buddy. Why don't we go sit down?"

Hook stomped his foot. "I want to ride this beastie."

Henry folded his arms. "_No_."

"Very well." Hook took a long swig from his canteen. When he'd corked it, he smacked his lips with a sigh and reached a wobbly hand to ruffle Henry's hair. "To the docks, lad! I'm going to teach you the difference between starport and . . . whatever the other one is."

"Bonding time is over." Emma pulled Hook's arm around her shoulders before he swayed all the way to the ground. "Time to come with me."

"Wonderful!" Hook smiled, and then he hiccuped. "Run along, cygnet. It's time for the adults to play."

Henry helped them to the car. "Are you sure you're going to be okay?"

Emma shut Hook's door with an emphasis. "I've got child-locks and black coffee. We'll be fine. Sorry about the interruption."

Henry waved it away. He hugged her goodbye. "I think we should have an Operation Yo-Ho status meeting after school."

At the sound of chugging liquid, Emma turned to see Hook going to town on his canteen again. She thrust her hand through the open window and wrenched it away. Hook cried, reaching for it.

"Yeah." Emma growled. "We do."

"Don't kill him."

She slid into the driver's seat. "I'll try. Love you. _Hook, stop playing with the buttons!"_

Hook gasped when he found the button to lower his window. After raising and dropping it several times over, he rolled it all the way down so he could stick his head and arm out. "Good bye, cygnet! Enjoy your day at the academy!"

"That's it!" Emma threw the car into park. "I am not moving this car until somebody tells me what a cygnet is."

The smile on Henry's face was incorrigible. "It's a baby swan, Mom."

Emma wanted to thump her forehead into the steering wheel all the way back to the apartment.

* * *

Emma had dosed Hook up on a double-shot of Dramamine, and she felt exactly zero guilt for it. Now he slept like the stone-laden dead, tucked under the quilted comforter in the guest room.

Which was locked.

From the outside.

Not that he would be awake within the next eighteen hours to notice.

Henry tiptoed inside at 3:45.

"Don't worry about," she called from the kitchen. "The man is _out_."

He took his position at the counter stools with a pen in one hand and a notebook in the other. "We need a game plan."

Emma stirred the pot of pasta and turned up the heat on the sauce. "I'm all ears."

"We need some objectives that we're working towards. Things we think will help integrate him."

"We gave him a spot in the cemetery. And we bought him clothes."

Henry wrote those down, and then crossed them off. "Not that he's wearing any of them," he added.

"It's a process." Emma tasted her sauce, and then she wrinkled her nose. "How do you feel about pizza again?"

"I thought Grandma wasn't letting you cook anymore."

Emma shot him a dark look.

"I mean, 'It's a process.'" He wore a smile two sizes too big.

She narrowed her eyes but let it pass. A cloud of steam mushroomed over the kitchen sink when she dumped the hot sauce out. "I think the next thing we need to do is find him a job. That way he has a source of income—_and _something to keep him out of the rum."

Henry dropped his chin into his hand. "Yeah, but like what? You need him close to keep an eye on him."

Emma sighed. She joined him at the counter, folding her arms and laying her head upon them. "And he does only have one hand. We have to be sensitive about that."

"So, dock work is out. And restaurants."

"Shame." Emma frowned. "He would have liked the docks."

Henry cocked an eyebrow. "He could work with you."

Emma stared at him.

"Think about it," Henry sung. "He'd be close. You could keep an eye on him. You need more help around the station."

"I was bored out of my mind at the station today!"

"Exactly. He'd keep your life interesting."

Emma laughed. "Yeah. No kidding. Kid, there's no _way _he would work when I'm around."

"Mom, he's a pirate. He's going to get bored with a normal job. He needs something exciting. Something adventurous."

"This is Storybrooke. We all have to accept how life is here. There's no Ogre Wars or ship ransacking."

"I know, but like you say, it's a process."

Emma blew air out puffed-up cheeks.

"I think it would be really good for him." When she was silent, Henry pointed. "Ah ha! So do you."

She pinched her nose bridge. "I'll talk to him about it."

"Awesome!" Henry wrote _Get Hook a job _on his list and numbered it with a three. "Winter is coming. Eventually he's going to need a place to stay."

"You mean other than his seventeenth century boat and our guest room?" Emma said. "Agreed."

"How about an apartment somewhere?"

She nodded. "I think I could help him find a place. Something small. Warm. Close to the water, probably. Everybody needs to have a home."

Henry was quick to say, "But he can still come over, right? Hang out with us?"

"Definitely." Emma squeezed his hand. "I'm glad you two get on. He enjoys spending time with you."

When Henry stared at her eyes, it was unsettling. "I like seeing you happy." Before she could respond, he studied his notebook. "Right. What else? Do you think you'll ever teach him how to drive?"

Emma's snort was short and rough. "One miracle at a time, kid."

He nodded. "Hey! I've got one. We should find out when his birthday is and then throw him a surprise party. That will make him feel connected."

There was a crash from the guest room, followed by a thud, and then a loud, "Swan! Cygnet! Open this door. My head is pounding greatly."

Emma shuffled towards the door. "Call for the pizza, Henry. I'm going to calm down Blackbeard. And he's got to stop calling you that."

"Don't bother, Mom," Henry said as he dialed. He grinned. "I kinda like it."


	10. A Job for Killian

Hook finished in the washroom, parting with some reluctance from the closet with the clear door and hot water. Emma had left a change of contemporary clothing on the dresser in the guest quarters. He studied his reflection in the fog-rimmed mirror. Blood-shot eyes and tired skin.

_Drunken wretch._

Hook pushed his fingertips against his pounding temples. He winced when someone knocked on the bedroom door.

Emma entered. She looked him over and actually smiled. "Jeans! That's a good sign."

Hook didn't feel like laughing. He avoided her as he returned to the mirror and finished dressing—a cotton shirt with truncated sleeves and the dark vest made of fabric, not leather.

By furtive glances in the mirror, he saw her slip her hands into her rear pockets. "Feeling better?"

"I am sober." He dropped into a wingback chair and made a show of putting on the cotton stockings everyone deemed such an indispensable part of the attire around here. As he did so, he asked, "Where are my real clothes?"

"Mary Margaret is washing them. Goodness knows how long it's been since they were cleaned."

Hook straightened. "You can't simply submerge leather in a tub of lard and water, Swan."

"Which is why I'm not doing it. I was putting them into the top-loader when she stopped me."

Hook leaned forward over his knees and pressed his head into his hands. It had been a long time since he'd been unsuccessful at holding his own with alcohol, yet failed he had not once, but twice, in one month. He would blush to admit such a thing to his crew.

Emma sat on the end of the bed. Although he made no effort to look or speak to her, he felt her eyes studying him.

At last she said in a tone that invited response, "I get the vibe you're still spiraling."

Hook sighed into his hands. "I'm not in the best form for conversation."

Emma let that one hang in the air. The bed creaked when she stood. Hook watched her pick up his corded medallion from the dresser and offered it to him. As he took it, she caught his eyes and said, "It's okay."

Hook knew what she meant. He looked away and just shook his head.

Emma took the medallion back. When he knitted his brow, she crouched in front of him and held his eyes with her own. She held the medallion out to him in the spirit of making a point, not offering to relinquish it.

"You are adapting to a new environment and making peace with losses. I think you're doing fine."

He didn't have an answer for that. She commanded his attention for several moments longer before she released his eyes and reached her arms around his neck. At first he thought it was an embrace, but then he felt her fingers moving and understood she tied his medallion in place. In another humor, he would have pressed the situation, but he did not feel like horseplay today.

"I meant what I said at the merchant palace," Hook said quietly when she was done. "I wish to be Killian Jones again, but I fear I cannot. I feel . . . without direction."

* * *

Emma grunted. Now would be a _really_ good time, her conscience nagged.

_But I haven't decided yet, _she protested.

_Oh, leave off. It's a good idea and you know it._

_Nobody else is going to like this._

_Give them time. Give _him _time. He'll win them over._

_Whatever. It's on you if this doesn't work._

_Uh, doesn't that mean it's on you, too?_

_Shut up._

_Fine. One more thing_, her conscience continued. _It's time for the name change._

_But—_

Now_, Swan. Or else the offer won't mean anything to him._

_I really hate this._

_I'm waiting…_

Emma cleared her throat. She rolled her eyes at her conscience—her conscience stuck its tongue out back at her—before she took a breath. "Killian."

His head lifted like he'd been poked with a hot iron.

"I'd like you to help me with something."

He was too busy staring at her to really respond, but his brows lifted which indicated he was listening.

Emma removed the metal star badge from her back pocket and handed it to him. He was speechless as he pressed the points into his fingertip.

"I want you to work with me—us. David and I. As a deputy."

"Of the law?" The disbelief in his snort was as audible as his accent. "Surely you jest."

"You need a job. Something to give you purpose here. I think you would be good at this."

"Swan, what makes you think three hundred years of pillaging and stealing—not to mention a fair amount of lying and stabbing—qualifies me to be an officer of the law?" Emma noticed that the shock on his face notwithstanding, he had not returned the badge.

"Because I believe you are a good man, Killian Jones."

And from that moment on, he would always be Killian Jones to her. The officer hiding in a pirate's clothes.

Killian fingered the badge. "No one will trust this, Swan. Your own father will be reticent."

"They'll change their minds."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because you're not a liability."

Killian closed his fingers around the badge. He thought for some time, tracing the insignia pressed into the metal with his thumb. "Will I be with you?"

Emma smiled. "Every day. As far as Storybrook goes, it's about the most excitement you can find around here. But you don't have to do this. You should know—it can be dangerous. I've dealt with my share of threats."

The smile that spread over Killian's face was all heart and just a little bit eyebrow. "Then how could I say no?"

**Author's confession: Clearly, my sense of direction is waning, as evidenced by how long it took to get this one up. I intended this to be a series of loosely connected one-shots, but my perfectionists tendencies insisted they be connected, and thus they have become bogged. Rather than dilute with uninspired filler, I intend to write two remaining scenes that are still poignant in my mind before turning my attention to another project. Perhaps a Captain Swan AU to occupy my attention during the fast-approaching break.**


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